One weened and seized with a carnivorous circus of consumer goods complimented by cinnamon sprinkled television repeats and completed by repeat prescriptions to ease the bite of the next big governmental lie pulsating at the postmodern nexus and the queer media Jesus with their pronouns neatly displayed on a button badge on their Burton blazer is nailed to the cross above it all. Simply put, and all the more compelling because of how such a buzz about such a band, with such a capital artistic punch, can emanate from an independent record label is doubly a damn fine demonstration about how to captivate the anarchic imagination rolling around a society anaemic with informational fever. As put into practice on their monstrous new album on Rough Trade: Most Normal. Yet Gilla band brands us, break us, rebuilds us, by branching out into something else, something higher, something heavier. Never exactly no wave or precisely post-punk or finitely indie because there is no longer enough safety (has there ever been without the baggage of boredom that comes nestled in such defiant taglines and terms?) in things that are precise, or finite. Entirely their own to build, entirely their own to break. Gilla Band remain one of the finest groups to emerge out of a generation obsessed with, blessed, and possessed by, a certain raging noise.
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